


The Sword of Zoltan

by shadowsapiens



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Innuendo, Angst and Humor, Dimitri is trying really hard, Extra Treat, Gen, Ghosts, Lingering Mental Instability, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), light Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-06 06:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: Only as the sword slices through a gorget like a loaf of bread does Dimitri realize what he’s holding. Horror surges through him, an electric panic more intense than anything else he’s felt this fight:This is Felix’s new sword, and he’s going to break it.





	The Sword of Zoltan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightsMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/gifts).

> Happy Halloween, NM! I couldn't resist writing for you, as Dimitri breaking things is very dear to my heart. I hope you enjoy :D

Dimitri doesn’t realize which sword he grabs at first. The fight is fast and brutal. The ruined chapel was supposed to be a nest of bandits but proved to shelter Imperial soldiers instead, more than their small team was prepared to handle. The close quarters make his lance impractical against enemy axes—not that it stops him—the blood sings so loud—he’ll claw their throats out with his bare hands if he has to—splintering wood and splintering bone—_There’s my boy,_ his father whispers—

But the professor barks out, “Dimitri, grab a _sword_.”

Byleth’s voice yanks Dimitri back to his senses. He finishes his current foe—quick, clean, still more satisfying than he feels safe with—and disengages. He’s sweating under his armor, and the crumbling chapel feels too loud and too familiar. Maybe he’s been here before. Maybe he’s killed here before. The long, bloody nights blur together.

Head spinning, he reaches the convoy right outside the chapel and grabs the strongest sword he sees. The hilt feels right in his palm, heavy enough to ground him. He rushes back to his place in front of Annette. He swings forward as wind whistles blade-like past his shoulders.

Only as the sword slices through a gorget like a loaf of bread does Dimitri realize what he’s holding. Horror surges through him, an electric panic more intense than anything else he’s felt this fight:

This is Felix’s new sword, and he’s going to break it.

_No. No,_ he thinks, adjusting his grip and lunging forward. He’s in control. He’ll stay in control. He slashes a soldier’s gut open and thinks, _I’ll prove myself a man and not a beast._

More orders fly past his head, Byleth’s clear voice commanding Sylvain and Ashe to change weapons too. Other adjustments Dimitri doesn’t quite catch—unless he hears his name, the orders aren’t for him. Byleth knows he can let Dimitri loose on the battlefield and he’ll do his duty till it’s done. He barely notices the tide of battle turning as the change in strategy takes effect. He’s too busy focusing on the blade in his hand.

Felix is still outside, taking out Imperial sentries and eliminating calls for reinforcement. He has no idea his precious new sword is here, slicing throats in his prince’s hand. Dimitri hears his voice clearly anyway: “Drop it, boar! What the fuck did I tell you?” 

But the sword sings in his hand. As Dimitri strikes forward, his confidence grows. He was right when he first saw it—this is a master’s blade. This is a blade he can wield without restraint. 

The next soldier falls at his feet, and there are no more. Dimitri straightens in the bloodsoaked rubble and sees his companions finishing their fights too. He starts a headcount, only relaxing when he knows everyone’s still standing. Everyone’s there, except for Shamir and Felix, who were assigned outside—

Felix.

Dimitri recalls the sword in his hand. Thank the goddess, he hasn’t broken it, but Felix will be livid if he sees Dimitri even holding it.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He just has to put it back before Felix sees.

_Yeah, you’d better be quick,_ Glenn says, laughing. Dimitri ignores him. It’s getting easier to ignore them.

“Well fought, Annette,” he says absently as he gathers up the end of his cloak. He definitely can’t return the sword covered in blood and gore like this. Felix will know.

“Thanks!” Annette chirps. “Though, I think my technique was a little off…”

Dimitri starts to relax further. Starts to feel nearly human again, as the battlecry echoes fade and the broken chapel fills instead with his companions’ voices, their laughter and reassurances. He’s smiling a little when he runs the end of his cloak down the blade and snaps it in two.

The crack echoes like Thoron in the small space. Dimitri stares down, cold with shock. One moment ago this was a sword. Now it’s a hilt in his hand, and a jagged blade on the ground.

A familiar gruff voice calls from outside, “Professor! We vanquished the rest of the rats.”

Felix sounds proud. Happy, the way he gets after a clean fight. But when he enters the chapel, he’ll see his new sword broken in Dimitri’s clumsy hands. Dimitri can already see his face falling, the moment of hurt and disappointment before he hides behind spitting rage.

“No,” Dimitri mutters. “I’ll fix it.”

He stoops and picks up the blade. Slides it into the sheath at his hip and keeps hold of the hilt as he rushes for the door. “Sylvain!” he calls. “My sincerest apologies, but I’m borrowing your horse!”

“Sure thing—wait, what?”

“Dimitri!”

He ignores Sylvain and Byleth both, feeling rather more guilty about the latter. He untethers Felicity from the convoy and swings onto her back. Her ears pin back, annoyed by the unfamiliar rider, but he nudges her onto the road, then into a gallop under the late-bleeding sky. She stretches into the run, eager to head for home.

Moments later, even over the rushing wind and pounding hooves, he hears the roar of rage behind him.

***

Byleth dismounts at the stables and hands Ashe’s horse off to a stablegirl. He sees Felicity already snug in her stall, to his relief. And there don’t seem to be any shouts of panic or broken door frames nearby, so Dimitri can’t have hurt anyone too badly. He asks the stablegirl, “Have you seen the prince?”

She points.

“Thank you,” he says, and strolls towards the marketplace.

He finds Dimitri at the blacksmith’s stall. The sun’s nearly set and most of the merchants have packed up for the night, but the blacksmith is still in front of her stall, arms crossed as she talks to the prince. Byleth approaches in time to hear her say, “I might be able to do it, but it’ll take at least a week.”

“No!” Dimitri’s voice rises enough that passersby glance over. He seems to realize and gets quieter. “Apologies, I meant, please reconsider. This task is of vital importance.”

“Sorry, Your Highness. Not unless you know how to cram more hours into day.” She turns away and starts tidying up her stall. “You can leave it on the rack if that works for you.”

Dimitri doesn’t put anything on the rack. He stands motionless in the courtyard, shaking slightly. Byleth gives him a moment to calm down before drawing closer.

“Dimitri?” he says softly.

Dimitri spins around just like Byleth’s barked the command in battle. His face is pallid, the tender skin beneath his eye dark. He hasn’t looked this bad in weeks. In his shaking right hand, he holds a jagged spike of metal by the hilt.

Byleth coughs and puts on his professor voice: positive but sharp, expecting a reply: “What are you doing?”

“Please, professor, I need your aid.” Dimitri’s eye darts past Byleth’s shoulder, like he’s checking if he was followed. Seeing no one, he holds out the broken hilt. “It’s this, I…”

Bright metal gleams in his black-gauntleted palm. The broken blade looks annoyingly familiar.

Byleth steps closer, encouraged when Dimitri doesn’t retreat. It’s still strange, being able to get this close to the prince without drawing a snarl. “You broke the sword? That’s fine. I can cover the repair with class funds.”

Wait, these days, class funds half come from Kingdom coffers. So, offering to use Dimitri’s money to fix something as a favor to Dimitri, probably weird…

“That will take too long! Professor, I beg you, can you repair this overnight? I can’t hope to hide my transgression from Felix any longer than that.”

“Felix?”

“The sword… It’s…”

“Oh,” Byleth says. “Fuck.”

Dimitri suddenly clasps the broken sword to his armored chest and falls to his knees. His great cloak thwumps down in a flurry of fur and dust, and the remaining merchants and guards collectively stop to stare as the future king of Faerghus kneels before the interim Archbishop.

Byleth still isn’t great at formal etiquette, but he’s pretty sure this is weird.

“There must be a way,” Dimitri says roughly. “There must be a way to repair it faster. I can’t—I can’t disappoint Felix. Not again.”

Not for the first time, Byleth feels in over his head. How can he keep his students from hurting each other? How can he keep them from hurting themselves? How can he take that terrible sadness from Dimitri’s voice?

Dimitri’s eye is red. Oh, Goddess, he’s about to cry.

Oh. Goddess. There’s an idea.

Byleth can hear Sothis’s voice almost as clearly as if she were still there. _Seriously? I did not grant you this power for you to use it so lightly!_

But it doesn’t feel like using it lightly when Dimitri looks so broken. When he hears thundering hooves and flapping wings, signalling the rest of the class’s return to the monastery—signalling Felix’s imminent arrival and the likely assassination of the future king of Faerghus.

When Byleth remembers a chest he’d missed looting in the chaos of the fight. Maybe a redo wouldn’t be so unreasonable.

“It’s okay, Dimitri,” Byleth says. “I can’t fix it, but I can do something better.”

He closes his eyes, and reaches for power.

***

“Dimitri, grab a _sword_,” the professor shouts. Dimitri jumps to obey, half-dizzy with rage and bloodlust. He reaches the convoy and is about to grab a sword when Byleth shouts again: “Fuck! Dimitri! I meant—ah—a levin sword!”

He grabs a levin sword instead and whirls back into the fight. Electricity sparks around him, so loud he can barely hear the professor shouting more orders: “Ashe! Check the back corner! Ingrid, cover him!”

The fight wraps up quickly. Once again, Byleth commands them with remarkable prescience, seeming to anticipate the enemy’s every movement. It’s not long before Dimitri finds himself outside the chapel finishing his customary headcount. Yes—there’s Shamir counting her arrows from astride her pegasus. And there’s Felix, who looks very tense until he meets Dimitri’s eyes, and his shoulders visibly loosen.

Dimitri tries not to push, these days. Felix’s impression of him is still fragile, and Dimitri will do his level best not to trample in unthinkingly. So, he loses himself in cleanup and retrieval, helping Sylvain and Dedue pile up the bodies for Mercedes to burn. He bites his lip to keep from answering as Rodrigue’s ghost murmurs, _You did well, Your Highness._

Only when they’re marching back, Garreg Mach softly illuminated before them, the setting sun hot at their backs, does Felix fall in step with Dimitri.

“Look,” Felix says gruffly. Then there’s another five minutes before he says anything else, and Dimitri doesn’t even mind the wait. Felix won’t make eye contact as he eventually continues, “You seem… You aren’t as completely mindless and oafish as you were.”

“Thank you, Felix.”

“Ugh.” He still won’t make eye contact. He’s looking up at the outline of the monastery against the purpling sky as he says, “I’m going to the training grounds after this. If you wanted to… touch my Sword of Zoltan…”

Dimitri is stunned to silence. “I would be honored to touch your sword,” he says eventually. For whatever reason, he hears Sylvain choking from somewhere behind them. He is about to accept the offer, perplexing audience or no, except some strange instinct shivers through him. And for some reason, the professor slows to walk nearer to them, giving him an unreadable flat gaze over his shoulder.

Dimitri doesn’t know why, but he knows he shouldn’t touch that sword.

He shakes his head and lets himself smile. “I would rather watch your hand on your sword instead.”

This time it’s Mercedes saying, “Goodness!” behind them for no reason Dimitri can discern.

But even that mystery can’t darken the brightness of the moment. Felix’s mouth twitches, the closest he’s come to grinning at Dimitri in years. And that makes Dimitri feel stronger than any sword in his hand. Walking here, with his classmates, his friends, their feet firm on the earth and their eyes towards Garreg Mach. Even his ghosts are quiet.

Such a wonderful evening. What he wouldn’t give to relive this hour, and enjoy it all over again.


End file.
